As long as They are not concerned

My psychiatrist is a professional right? By not approving my prescription refill, her office understands that they are holding my health hostage until I seek her out for an appointment. This they must understand, I’d think. Is she aware that I have gone off my medication? I haven’t seen her for 8 months. Can she make that assumption? Probably. As my psychiatrist, is her office responsible for my continued health beyond her office? Probably not.

To me, her office is the gateway to maintaining the chemical makeup of my body. They collect the toll, look upon me a moment, and allow me to pass through for my supply of drugs. I am approved for consumption only temporarily. I’m allowed three refills, one month at a time. Perhaps the rules require us to meet frequently, to assess that my health hasn’t changed. Or to be sure the medication is working correctly? Or that I have not become chemically unstable, a threat to myself or those around me? A rule in place to protect me. Her job as the gatekeeper. This makes sense.

But wait, what about now? This situation I’m in today, where I am reluctant to cross the threshold of her gate, to pay the tolls, and continue treatment? Are the rules protecting me now, or are they protecting her, or are the rules protecting the integrity of the medication and the marketplace? I don’t understand it all, the landscape is much bigger, the market more complicated than my simple needs.

Can I assume that she is still protecting me? Is she still responsible for my health, or do the rules only address the last time I left her office? I’ve spoken with her receptionist twice in my time away. I deflected her request for an appointment with soft excuses and a promise to call back with a day and time. I must have accepted responsibility then, now I must be responsible for my mental health. I have not received a call from my psychiatrist, so she must accept my ability to shoulder this responsibility, or maybe she just isn’t required to care? I don’t know the rules.

But can I not just assume that she supports my decision? I mean, as an exercise of self empowerment, can I just believe that the system is in place to be efficient and protect us? I sought out and received care. I am trusted with the decision to continue care. I stopped taking my medication and I haven’t heard from my doctors, the pharmacy, or my insurance company. Why not trust their combined institutional power to do no harm and assume that I have received a roundabout bill of good health? I mean, you wouldn’t rationally expect a person with mental health problems to be the sole advocate for their own well being? That would be silly, since such a person can be so volatile. From this perspective, I can empower myself and smile, I must not be that kind of person. I don’t need their stewardship or their drugs.  

I’m in class at University right now, it is Calculus II. We are studying Integrals, and the teacher explains Trigonometric Substitution to the class. I don’t understand any of it. I’m behind in my assignments for this and other classes. I took my midterms last week and scratched my head confused. I cannot concentrate and I distract myself. As an example, I’m writing instead of following the one being demonstrated on denominator factoring.

A fog has settled into my mind. Each day that filled last week, I tried to sit down with the concepts and challenges of my school work, but unfortunately I was emotionally overwhelmed by the task and found myself locked into an eddy of confusion and doubt. Self medication, drinking and marijuana help with some of the anxiety, but that shouldn’t continue. I AM responsible for my own health, so I admit this is not sustainable or helpful. Self medication is not ideal nor productive, I’d like to be healthier than an addict is, I’d like freedom from these vices. I must be my own master.

Midterms concerned me, and my inability to focus continues. I once took a lot of pride and accomplishment from my school work. Stress and feeling inadequate in class compounded last week. It feels like steam seeping from my seams, the pressure is building. I decided to seek help on campus. The Center for Student Health & Counseling has walk-in hours with which to meet a counselor for an assessment.

After checking in, I sat in the waiting room and waited to be called back for about an hour. I had a class to get to, so I walked back to the receptionist and asked to reschedule. Her system told her that I had already had my appointment, I had been called back and met with someone already. My confusion compound again, and I twisted my face. A woman stepped out from behind a threshold and offered an explanation.

It turned out that another man had taken my spot by responding when my name was called and had followed the counselor to her office. The woman admitted that she thought something had gone wrong since our information didn’t match, but allowed the man to continue. They both assured me that these things never happen and that I should come in for an assessment right then, rather than rescheduling. The counselor buzzed me into the clinic.

She asked if I have suicidal thoughts. Yes, my whole life. She asked if I would follow through with them. I wouldn’t, it’s an escapist fantasy rather than a practical plan. She was relieved. I let her know that I was off my medication and explained my situation. The words fell out, and I struggled to keep my heart from spilling too. She stopped me abruptly and asked if I wanted therapy or medication? I did not know, I don’t know, I think I just need to talk right now. She let me know that appointments can be made, but they are a month or two out. That let me down. Classes are over in a month, I wasn’t going to find relief here. She wrote an address on a torn piece of paper for a building downtown. She said that I might be able to get help there.

I left the clinic feeling that I wasted my time. But thinking of it again, I feel empowered. I am responsible for my own health. After describing my situation to a professional, she declined to take responsibility for my health. So I can assume the clinic didn’t find me to be a danger to myself or in need of a definite future action. Perhaps my problems are trivial in comparison to others?

The counselor and my psychiatrist trust me to advocate for myself, the clinic has not yet followed up. The system spat me back out and communicates that my decisions are acceptable, my thoughts reasonable, with the caveat that I should drink and smoke less drugs. Self medication outside the pharmacy is frowned upon.

Okay, I get that and agree.
As long as They are not concerned,
I shouldn’t be.

When did I stop writing?

I’m going off my meds
I’ve done it before, this needs to be the last time
I’m not sure when I stopped writing
But it dislocated myself from who I thought I could be

I’m going off my meds
I know my mother never wanted to be one
I’m not sure why I stopped writing
We wanted our son and I can’t be with him enough

I’m going off my meds
I drink too much anyway
Smoke clouds my mind, and I don’t sleep well
My vices accelerate, and I acknowledge my weakness

I’ve gone off my meds
In order to understand myself
In order to like myself, and maybe to learn to love myself
I’m not sure when I’ll start writing again

I hope it’s today

WR212 2015 Writing Exercise 1

My name is Ryan Daniel Fretz, I use it fully for specificity, but people easily call me Ryan. I live in NE Portland, Oregon. The Wilshire-Beaumont neighborhood, in a small rental house that I share with my wife Katherine Tyler, our toddler son Leroy James, and two cats: SNES and Manola. Our backyard has a large doug fir, brick patio and a fire pit. We live a half block from a park. Our home is good here in PDX.

We came from SLC, Utah in the summer of 2007. The night we pulled up our loaded Penske, towing Dr. VW Golf, was the same summer night as the World Naked Bike ride. We have loved this city ever since. It's charm, natural beauty, people and rain all. 

I like space, multidimensional travels, Tron is a favorite film, so is Fight Club. Right now I am only reading Hemmingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls… Only limits my recreational reading only. 

I am currently caught up in the self-serving affairs of my mind and the demands I place on my body. Being mostly the care of the family, our household, and calendars. I limit my hobbies as best I can for scheduling reasons, so I find myself excited and eager to be back in school after these years. 

Night classes right now: Writing 212 and Math 112. My birthday is December 12, 1982 and on that date 2012 I turned 30, so twelve has always been a special number for me. I figure that I am getting to do 2012 all over again in some ways. Though each present moment is important, I sometimes would take a redo. I am looking forward to the challenge of this term. 

I suffer from vanity and vice. I am a hard critique. More inside than out, but a blunt open mouth will often recount from me. Others often see the image we project, I am aware of this, thus forgiving of each others' masks and shortcuts. My keen eye for vanity is my shield, I use vice to maintain the courage and composure. 

I'm a Lyft Driver now!

Friday, August 14th, 2015, was my first night driving for Lyft; an app driven, peer-sharing ride service. This is going to be my surrogate job while I lay low, lick my wounds, and become a full-time house husband and father to Leroy James. As it is with many things lately, you can call me "First Time". 

It was too late to get the car washed. Apparently, those things close at dusk. Explain that one to me. It was okay though. I got a full tank of diesel and wiped down the leatherette interior with Armor All. I then hit up the Plaid Pantry for their sale-item drinks, candy, & gum. My rides on Lyft were most memorable when they included free snacks, so... I'm going to be that kind of ride.  

I had some app trouble. Probably user error, not quite proficient yet. I had to stand outside the car to cancel a ride, my first request! I'll admit I was nervous, and hadn't finished my cigarette. I had kinda decided it wasn't going to work, my insurance was in mid-renewal review status. I had been logged on for 20 minutes in drive-mode. Started to mentally write off the night. 

After putting out my vice, I parked for awhile outside the Whole Foods on East Burnside. I messaged and flipped thru the music. I checked the App, and notice the pink zones. I started the car and started moving. Got surprised when I was finally pinged. 

I admit my enthusiasm made me a fool, like it does. I began to drive desperate. My driving was a little fast and too loose as I tried to get there. I passed a long line of cabs on their left, then cut in. Turned right onto SE 9th, but had to cross lanes with less room than is polite. I confirmed my arrival, waited. 

"Wait, did that blue pin move?" I need to get closer, I'll circle the block back onto E Burnside. The car stalled, turned off. I hit the emergency flashers, rolled to the edge curb, pulled the e-brake. Restart, reset, relaunch Spotify. 

   

A packed Prius, peaked and interested, full of peering heads drove past me. It was a Yellow Cab, I was getting some heat. Better drive more safely, roll up to a full stop; behind all the lines, act professional. I also gotta remember to respect the locals, lords and current tenants of this business. 

LED lights flash from the borders of my view, emerge from behind corners. Portland Police (Po Po) boxes me as I roll down the road, size me up, probably runs my plates. They don't stop me, I pass the pre-screen for now. Some kid shouts to me from the sidewalk, I answer him standing thru my sun-roof. I lost my fare during my confusion, or she got lost herself, her friends are pretty drunk. 

Union Jack gives me attitude outside their parking lot entrance, blasting beats from a built up truck. Oh well, wait for another. I take the hint and leave. 

I jumped to a few locals. The first time I rode Lyft, was SLC friends at Voice Box SE. So, I went there. I waited. A guy leaned in and asked if I was Brad? I wasn't. I waited for a request. 5 minutes before getting called back out. I got onto MLK and headed towards the fare.  

The start seemed like a wash, my misunderstanding mid-smoke, but I get another request and accept. I pick up the next fare and my night feels like it begins. A quiet couple, I take them deep NE. I take guy home into John's Landing, we chat politely. I get a request at a Taco Truck downtown, and then another in the NE. It becomes really fun.

After a drop, I chase pink heat-maps that flicker, grow, and appear. Trying to catch the bonus high-demand sections. N Boise, Mississippi, Downtown, East Side Industrial all come to life. I head towards them, but not sure if I ever caught that bonus, despite entering with what I thought was time. Demand driven overlays shrunk, stall, disappear. Then I get another request.

I have a lot of fun though. The night moves on and I make just under $60 by the end. You can see below that my night ends inside 3 AM, I feel good about the night. I think I can do better.

Turns out there's this thing called "Acceptance Rate". Turning down/missing rides negatively impacts it, and I did a less adequate job at first. Now I gotta work my score back above 90% if I want to enter the bonus structure.  

I learned a few other things driving that night:

• Wear my glasses, I'm not as young as once from youth.
• Start earlier
• Don't over-hydrate, you might have to pee into an old starbucks cup
• A glow buddy comes in real handy if you haven't earned your glowstache yet

The second time I got fired

I got a job out of high school at this Dot Com called MediConnect. It was a call center, my first call center. I remember being freaked out about making those first outbound calls. I ground my teeth through the anxiety, and ended up getting pretty good at it. We would make calls to hospitals and doctor's office to collect copies of medical records for law firms. We had affidavits signed by their patients, it was all legit.

We worked out of tiny cubicles, barely over eye level. I knew the top of all my coworkers heads by heart. I had a computer with a phone attached to it, which would automatically load up the client profile and make the call for me. I also had two drawers, one for pencils and crap, the other for files. I took out all the stupid files and filed it with Legos.

Despite my initial fear of having to talk to people and convince them to release sensitive client information to me, I became pretty good at this job. My confidence grew. I even became a team leader. The day that they were secretly choosing them, I had happened to write a encouraging phrase on a post-it and stuck it to my monitor. This apparently impressed someone. The phrase was something like:

I became so good at making these calls that I won a contest for bringing in the most records in one day. I got a really big TV, I couldn't even fit it in my car.

My mastery of this job eventually became my downfall, a common theme with me it seems. I got to the point where the work became really automatic. I had my opening spiel, which I would deliver while reviewing the profile and playing racing games on my glacier colored Game Boy Advance.

It went something like this, "Hello, this is Ryan Fretz calling from MediConnect. I was calling today to...", always, every time, to a human voice or when leaving a message. I would say this like a robot. This would give me the few seconds I would need to review the last note and see what to say next.

As you would expect, we had escalated cases. These were the sort of calls, where we were having a really hard time getting the records for one reason or another. The client profile would tell us how many days the case had been opened, and the notes would give us an idea of what had gone on previously. One day I came to one of these, several months out, and the notes were nothing but us leaving voice mail after voice mail without any response.

The call went like this, "Hello, this is Ryan Fretz calling from MediConnect. I was calling today to... tell you that I hate you!"

It just came out, click, the call ended and the next one queued up, and I continued to rock at my job. Honestly, I didn't even give it a second thought. Until the next week when the floor manager called me into the operation manager's office.

My manager started, "Ryan, I got a disturbing call from a doctors office the other day. They said that you called and told them that you hated them. I didn't believe it at first, but then I pulled your audio files and sure enough, you call them, state your name and then say you hate them! They were all freaked out, they thought that maybe you were a terrorist!" This was shortly after 911.

The Ops Man stared me down, "Why would you do that?"

"I don't know, it just came to me." I explained that the call was escalated, etc.

"If you were going to do that, why would you even say your name?", my manager asked.

"Well, I wasn't really planning on hating them, but then I did."

"We are going to have to let you go" It was already decided. "We are having your desk packed up right now. You can leave after this meeting."

But wait, "They called back didn't they?" I turned to the Floor Man, "Did you get the records from them?" They exchanged a look, and I saw their resolve falter a moment.

"Your numbers have been falling as well", the Ops manager looked to my manager, who looked away.

I took the moment, "Actually, I'm at the top of the list."

"We have to let you go.", the final blow came from my manager.

So okay, I left their office and our HR woman handed me a file box full of my legos and other personal effects.

Done in again. Though, I learned to avoid becoming a replaceable cog in the business machinery. Even if I'm good at the job, I'll still be at the mercy of ass-holes. You have to be integral!

I've been reading about a lot of Punk lately

Why do I get fired? Because I'm a punk. I push boundaries, challenge convention, become defiant to authority.

The first time I was fired was from a job working as a security guard for the gated community Pepperwood in Sandy, UT. All of my friends had lived there and I protected them. Green uniform, clip board and pen.

Actually, a few of my friends living there worked with me. We all sort of made the rounds thru the Pepperwood guard shacks during high school. There were two, an East and a West Gate. The East Gate was stoic, cold, a spartan tiny office with stairs down to a bathroom. East was usually much more quiet than the West Gate. Which was an older, larger building. With a large desk, space to stretch out, recline and watch for the cars to come up the hill and past the church.

Both had TV's of course, security camera's, a resident lane. A visitor lane that you faced, and an exit behind you. It was our job to right down the names of people that were visiting other people on streets with names like Shadow Wood, Windsong, and Apple Hill Circle. I was vigilant and complacent at the same time somehow.

So anyway, the big transgression that was the climax of that outfit was asking my friend to work for me, who didn't actually work there any longer, technically. He used to work there, I couldn't cover my shift easily, so I just paid him the $80 bucks, or whatever it was and he worked my swing shift. I'm pretty sure he still even had his own uniform. Then I went on a date or something. Hopefully I got laid that night, I can't remember.

My manager got word, called me up and confronted me about it. Well, I wasn't the first to pull this stunt at the shack, I can tell you that, but I didn't tell him cause I'm no stool pigeon! I think I said something like, "I tried to get it covered, I called around."

"Did you call me?", his reply.

"Yeah"

"No, you didn't", he said flatly.

"Yeah, you're right" Peace out!

   

Shia LaBeouf - the Anticelebrity

I had an epiphany recently, I now admire Shia LaBeouf and continue to find him really interesting.  This Sia video was what recently won me over:

Also, having recently seen this one really got to me as well:

A comparison came to mind when thinking about his public image that perhaps as the anti-hero is to the hero, he is to the celebrity, an anti-celebrity. Lifted directly from Wikipedia, an antihero or antiheroine is a leading character in a story who, unlike a traditional hero, lacks conventional heroic qualities such as idealism, courage, and morality. So, the traditional celebrity strives for what? Fame, fortune, mass media recognition of their talent, and a need for attention. It's sort of a slippery identifier, and the definition can take a lot of forms. For example, sometimes celebrity can happen on accident, or people strive for it endlessly and can't maintain it, like reality TV Stars.

Shia though, an obviously talented actor, with worldwide blockbusters under his belt, started to slip into a Joaquin-Phoenix-like crazy life crisis in 2014. Unlike Phoenix though, it doesn't look like Shia is faking it to make a movie. He is actually cracking up a bit, and we get to watch it all live though social media and the internet.

He goes on Ellen later in the year and opens up to her about the experience. Saying that he ended up putting himself in an installation type environment and allowed the public to come and talk to him about all the harsh things that were being said about him in person. Where is his publicist in all of this?

That is what I mean about him as an anti-celebrity. He is lacking the conventional quality of accepting fame, and trying to deflect it in some way.

Now, we are a critical generation, and have seen many stunts before, but I'm starting to feel like this is genuine. He could really mean it, or just be on a lot of drugs, which we assumed of Phoenix as well. I just get the sense from what I have read about him, and the interviews I watched for this piece, is that he is just a normal guy that happens to now be famous, and is remaining famous. Despite his inability to control himself around Alec Baldwin. He tries but fails at things, where his peers might not. He lacks the finesse and charm of James Franco or Natalie Portman.

He is a product child of the Disney Channel, so he has been in the spotlight for most of his life, maybe he is now questioning his social existence. Let's give him that, and maybe he was having a battle making his way out of The 27 Club last year. At least his is doing way better than Amanda Bynes.

That is all.